Your Halo Slipping Down
by Ms. Trixster
Summary: "Your  halo slippin' down, to choke you now."
1. Will he ever learn?

"So? When will the meeting take place?" asked a tall, thin boy with thick, black, ruffled curls and a hooked nose.

Another young man with much tidier hair, onyx in shade, and an overall well kept appearance, replied, "Tonight – after potions."

Met with another boy who walked briskly towards the other two, the echoes of his footsteps resounding through the hall, he was rather petite, though well-built with dark blond hair. Abruptly he stopped making a gesture as if asking for some kind of response to his company.

"Tonight after potions." the curly haired boy answered. His name was Nott, Theodore Nott. The blond, Mulciber, and the third boy, Tom Riddle.

More than once, weekly, Tom and his friends, who were more his gang members rather, met for special _meetings_ held by Tom. No one knew for sure what went on during their gatherings since only a fair few were invited – those closest to Tom, or rather, those Tom perceived as worthy enough to involve themselves with him and partake in the pleasure of his company. Arrogance was one of his underlying traits, yes, however this ran deeper. It was not a question of arrogance but something much more important and cruel, to put it lightly.

"_And don't be late."_ Riddle enforced harshly, "This may very well be the most important meeting. Those who arrive late will simply be removed, am I perfectly clear?"

The two boys nodded in unison.

* * *

><p>The halls resounded with the familiar echoes of chatter from students making their way from class to class. Hogwarts was as busy and thriving as always. Hermione Granger, a sixth year Gryffindor, with much effort, forced her way through the mass of students, just barely managing. Never had she been late for a class and she didn't intend on being late now – that being her only strive for perfect attendance, since she really disliked the thought of potions class at the moment. It was not high on her list of priorities to, at the least, share a class with Ronald Weasley right now considering their current <em>opposition<em> – an opposition to her anyway, what with his choice of females to spend his time with. Six years falling for this ginger haired boy, risking her life with him for their best friend, Harry Potter, obviously sharing the same feelings for eachother. For him to suddenly write it off as 'just friends' for the sake of some daft bimbo, whose real name was Lavender Brown, infuriated her to no end, at the least. More so did it destroy her inside and was slowly breaking her heart.

_'I'll just focus on the assignment and pretend they're not there. Yes. It'll be fine.'_ she tried to convince herself. Yet she knew pretending they weren't there was nearly impossible. All they ever did was snog eachother's brains out. Always, always, always all over eachother. It was vile and sickened her to her stomach.

After a while of pushing and shoving, finally she made it through the crowd and carried on to Potions.

Upon entering the classroom, she was surprised to find they'd managed to keep their hands off eachother long enough to attempt an assignment.

"Ha." Hermione chirped with a pun at them, not that they noticed. Lavender was too busy gazing in heat at the ginger as he serviced his cauldron.

With a brow arched, she stalked over to her work area, ensuring she gave more than enough space between herself and the pair.

Throughout the class, Ron offered short glances in her general direction, brief in their existence as not to indirectly imply anything to _Lavender_. Other than that, things ran smoothly, for the most part, but she couldn't completely ignore their presence.

_'Spare me..'_ Hermione thought to herself in spite of Ron's efforts to gain some sort of attention, or approval – at the very least say hello. However, Hermione wanted nothing more than privacy with her cauldron and assignment.

"Hey" a voice sounded from behind, barely audible, and at once she knew it was him. Aimlessly, she pecked at several different objects scattered atop the table – anything to keep busy, or appear as such.

Clearing his throat, Ron made another attempt at small talk, "_Hey_." he repeated with more enthusiasm and a smile to match. Hermione growing irate quickly snatched her rucksack, tossing her things inside before storming out of the classroom, leaving Ron bewildered and exchanging odd glances with Harry and the back of Hermione's golden brown mane.

"I don't think she wants to talk to you as of yet, Ron." Harry pointed out the obvious as if perhaps it weren't so to Ron.

With a sigh, he returned to his table and pressed on, wondering, as always, when Hermione would finally come to terms with him and stop shutting him out.

With long strides, Hermione trotted through the halls of Hogwarts, in the direction of that one place – her safe haven: _the library_.


	2. Where am I?

Hogwarts grounds slowly covered by a blanket of darkness as the sun hovered lowly behind the trees, inturn, odd shadows danced here and there. Inside the castle, in the library, the soft murmur of someone crying sounded from deep within in rows of bookcases. In there, Hermione Granger had seated herself at a desk in the far back, hunched over on the table, her shoulders heaving through her sobbing.

"He's such an arse.." she mumbled lightly.

Indeed he was an arse. He knew how she felt. How could he not? How could he act as though every moment they'd shared was nothing but a mere friendship when it had undoubtedly been leading to a relationship? Was it not as obvious to him as it were to her? Was he really that thick? It couldn't really have been wishful thinking this whole time, could it?

_'You have your fun, Ronald.."_ bitter thoughts began to nip at the back of her mind, _"and I'll have mine.'_

It was not necessarily common for Hermione to seek revenge, but she saw no harm in eloping with another. Why not? _He had_. Sighing, she shook her head. The thought was encouraging, and soothed her anger, but she couldn't. More than likely she'd remain alone, waiting for him, pining over him like always, though, not in such a grotesque way as _Lavender Brown_ who couldn't seem to keep her hands off him. It was positively juvenile. Disgusting even.

Another sigh of aggravation and her head rose to rest on her hand. Suddenly, as though it wished to be read, a book toppled from the bookcase, quite high even, and nearly clonking her on the head. Startled, she jumped, pulling away from the table.

"Bloody hell!"

Discretely handling the book, as if it may bite, she tilted her head to peer up at the shelf from which it fell. With furrowed brows, she read made a failing attempt at reading its shabby cover. Nothing was perceivable anymore due to its age. She could only imagine how horrible it's innards were. She couldn't help but peek.

The book was vastly aged, but the pages, for the most part, could still be read. Inside, the book was filled with charms, spells, odd concoctions, and rituals, all significantly old and nothing like she'd ever read. It had an overall eerie feeling to it. Perhaps it was silly. After all, it was just a book. No harm ever came from reading a book.

* * *

><p><em>'Where am I? I don't know this place.'<em>

_The dark figure glided effortlessly through a deep wooded forest, carrying a wand in a vice grip as he ventured through unknown territory. Long, silken robes drug the ground beneath him with a soft whisper as they billowed in the light, stirring breeze. Long, pale fingers tightened their grip at the chilling breeze. His pale skin illuminated by the milky sheen of the moonlight._

_Just ahead, a clearing in the trees. His hazel eyes sharply focused on it in curiosity. Nearly there, he paused. Was it his own worrisome mind, or was there an unseen force guarding this area? It seemed to discharge an overwhelming feeling of magic. _

_He continued onward, entering the clearing with care. Centered inside, an intense pain stung at his arm, followed by an intense force, as if magnetic, pulling, aiming his wand for him, toward the sky where it held its aim. The tip growing bright. Brighter. A soft emerald shade. The energy building. Pulsing. Vibrating in the wand's point, so much now it had grown to a snitch-sized orb._

_'What is this?'_

_No sooner did the question reverberate through his mind, the orb exploded into a large sphere as it bolted from the wand's edge, up, into the sky, where another explosion took place._

_The sky illuminated the same bright glow as from his wand, blinding in it's appearance, so much so he felt the need to tear his eyes away from its beauty for a short moment. Upon returning his gaze, an ominous image came into focus. A once twinkling sky, now hidden behind a blanket of thick clouds, and hidden in their pillows was a skull. Its mouth gaping open, emitting a rumbling of a roar as if pained or perhaps angered. A frightening display for most, yet enthralling in Tom's perspective._

_This imperative spectacle had lured him in so much that he'd completely forgotten about the sharp sting in his left arm. Tantalizingly, he drew his silken sleeve up to view the source of the pain: a mark, slithering, black, a snake and skull, much like the one overhead._

"_What does this mean?"_


	3. The Formidable Book

_'Warning: serious risks involve–'_

'_What risks!'_ nothing more could be read past that much to her dismay. The inability to read it drove the know-it-all bonkers. _'Brilliant..'_

Closing the book hesitantly, she plopped it down atop the desk in aggravation. The thump of the massive book on the table top echoed throughout the library, almost taunting her. Her own overwhelming need for knowledge stinging her, begging for approval to which she refused to offer.

Sighing with a hiss, "Ruddy book." she reached for its tethered surface, and in that short second, her fingertips just barely grazing the surface, a penetrating force overcame her, dominating her entire body. A restrictive feeling, as if the book would not allow her to touch it again after being rejected.

Frozen in place, barely able to breathe even, a drop of perspiration formed from her brow and her pupils dilated. Blood ran as cold as ice, adding to the restriction that had taken over her body, like a cold, vice grip that may break her. Struggling with the greatest effort, she attempted to sever contact with the book's surface. She may have appeared to have been petrified, however, she could, only slightly, twitch every now and again, until finally she freed her fingertips from their locked position.

Catching her breath, she brought a hand to her chest, gripping her white, collared shirt just over her racing heart.

_'It's charmed? Why?'_ The only theory she could manage, and the most likely reason being that someone didn't want anyone else reading it. So it would then be placed in the restricted section, would it not? How odd. Too was it odd that she was able to touch it before. Had it _let_ her touch it? Was there a crack in the charm? If the charm was as old as the book it would make perfect sense that their would be. Such dark magic she had felt though. On the brink of painful. Whoever had charmed that book was dead serious on letting no one else get their hands on it. She could only imagine what the charm might had done to anyone before its, as well as its charm's, deterioration. Even after its aging, its power was still so unbelievably overwhelming. Certainly couldn't have been a _teacher _who had charmed it, therefor, it must have been a student. Still, what was so important about a book full of dark magic? Was it _because_ it was full of dark magic? Very thoughtful of someone – in a way – if it were charmed for the protection of others, have you, otherwise...

Gathering her composure, she wondered if it was even worth it for another attempt at handling that.. that thing.

Suddenly, _'Go on'_ had she heard something? Someone? Was she not alone? _'I dare you'_

_'__**What**__?'_ she thought, _'I dare you?'_

"Hello?" she called out in a trembling voice, only to receive silence.

Breathing quickened as her blood ran cold again, this time from fear alone and she bolted for the exit.

But just as she did, _'No, don't leave, dear' _and she came to a slow halt.

_'First it practically threatens me, then it calls me __**dear**__?'_

_'I wasn't threatening you.'_

Crossing her arms over her chest, "Oh? 'I dare you' You don't call that a threat?"

_'I only meant that you should try again!'_ it proclaimed in a cheerful manner.

"Ha! So you can petrify me again? No thank you." with that she turned to leave, but again the book managed to prolong this.

_'Please?'_ almost pitifully, _'I won't hurt you again.'_

Its voice nothing short of a whisper, it pleaded for her to try again, try again. Hermione didn't trust it. Not after its threat. It was undoubtedly lying – threaten her then try to lure her in. Nonsense.

"No thank you." she said for the final time, exiting the library without a second's notice as to avoid anymore chatter with this.. book.

A conversation with a book. Well that was positively unheard of. Or was it? Five years ago something similar did happen now that she thought of it. A diary belonging to none other than Tom Marvolo Riddle. Not only did the diary write back, but it managed to take Harry into another time. So having a conversation with a book wasn't entirely remarkable. Not in the wizarding world anyhow. It's dark tenancy though.. It's eerie whispers still resounding in her mind. They were almost alluring, as if the book was putting her under some kind of spell, aside from the nasty body-binding one she'd been forced to adhere to. It was enough to put her nightly library visits to a grinding halt – at least for a little while. Or at least as long as she could bare. The thought of being caught alone with that book again terrified her.

* * *

><p><em>'Morsmodre. Yes. That's it.'<em>

_Hazel hues searched their surroundings in a bewildered haze of a deep sleep and night of endless, cryptic dreams. A dark, painful mark on his arm, a skull, entangled with the slithering body of a serpent – the same image he'd seen in the sky. What did it all mean? Or wasn't it obvious enough? _

_'Of course..'_

_That was it. That's what he was looking for – precisely. A vision more than a dream, an answer more than a query. It was a symbolization of himself. Of what he wanted for his future and the future of the wizarding world. A dark mark. __**His**__ Dark Mark. It would be his very own – come to him in a dream – just his and it would inherit undeniable recognition when from the people who will come to either fear it, or admire it; his people. Those who would share his beliefs and join him without the slightest doubt or disloyalty. _

_'I-am-Lord-Voldemort.' _

_At this last gather, he shut his eyes, and pursued sleep once more._

* * *

><p><strong><em>*_**Chapters will grow longer, dears. Just be patient. I will try to get a chapter in a day, for now. Thank you for reading and be sure to review and share your thoughts.


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